


A Dream of Falling, Sand and Rain

by QSF



Series: Dreams, escape and afterwards [1]
Category: Kamen Rider OOO
Genre: Drabble Sequence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QSF/pseuds/QSF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, in order to get some of my Kamen Rider OOO feelings out, I’ve decided to make a series of short drabbles. No plans to make this into another epic, because I really, really have no time for that this year. 2014 is going to be crazy enough as it is. But despite my lack of time, Kamen Rider OOO hit my feels buttons in a way I haven’t felt about a franchise since DA2. This takes place after the end of the series, so spoilers abound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Spoilers for the end of the show!

There was a time when all that he would dream about were explosions. Grit in his teeth. A ringing pain in his ears. Air tasting like dirt. The charred smell of plastic and oil. They didn’t smell anything like fireworks.

Fireworks. Another thing he couldn’t watch without flinching, even when Hina held his hand so hard it hurt. Nothing hurt in this dream, and the worst part is that he can’t remember if it hurt back then. Did he just never notice the scrapes and bruises? The shockwave tearing at his skin with heat enough to scorch? It had to have hurt when he shielded himself from the debris, but all he could think about was whether there were pieces of her body in the dirt that pelted him like hail. She had been crying when she died and that made her death seem even more unfair.

He still dreams about her, but not every night.

Now he dreams about falling, and that is somehow both better and worse. A moment suspended in a sky still warped purple, the void that had been Dr. Maki leaving a scar that faded only reluctantly.

Falling.

It seemed an impossibly long way down. Enough time for a life. Certainly enough for a death. Two deaths. A kind of ending, maybe even a kind one. Saving the world had been within his reach after all. Their reach.

The slap stings, and this time the hurt doesn’t make things better. It makes things worse. More real. More memory than dream.

"Eiji, wake up." There was a bird sculpted on the glove that was Ankh’s hand, Ankh’s arm, but he had never imagined that it spoke. The voice always came from elsewhere, like a whisper from a stagehand you couldn’t see. A very annoyed stagehand. "You’re gonna die."

Of course he was, that was why he was looking at the sky and not the rapidly approaching ground. But words needed to be said, even in a dream, so he answers with a smile. Maybe of relief. Maybe because even in his dreams the hand is a welcome sight. “Oh, it’s fine, I don’t think there’s much I can do about that. And besides, you’re…” Dead. Gone. But in his face all the same.

"Don’t worry about me, I got what I wanted." Just a hand, like at the start. No host body. No smirk. No smile either. Too few smiles.

"You mean life? But if you die…" What was the use of getting what you want only to lose it right away? He had never managed to figure that one out. Ankh seemed get it. But then Ankh always seemed like he knew it all, even when he was flailing in the dark like the rest of them.

"You’re right. Thanks to you all, a pile of medals like me can die. I don’t think I could ever find anything more satisfying."

You sound like Dr. Maki, is what he had wanted to say. Only in the end are things complete. Such bullshit. The end is the end and there was nothing great about that. Nothing sad either, or so he would have thought, but that was regarding his own end, and this was different. Different enough that the words stick in his mouth and he remained quiet as Ankh’s hand gestured empathically in his face.

"Picking you worked out for me in the end, no doubt about that."

No doubt. How could he say that with such conviction and then just float away. Could hands even look back? In his dreams he tries to grab him anyway, but his reach is too short. Like always. Too short for the thing that he realized too late mattered the most.

"Hey… where are you going?" He knows where, but he asks anyway. Maybe one day the answer will be a different one.

"I’m not the hand that you need help from anymore."

Sometimes he wakes up then; sometimes he keeps falling, keeps flailing, keeps trying to swim after the fading hand. The shoulder turned on a sandy beach, Ankh walking away. Not looking back. Never looking back.

Eiji wish that he could learn that trick.


	2. Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Spoilers for the end of the show

Sun.   
Sand.   
Sand in his shoes.   
Sand in his underwear.   
Everybody laughed at him for obsessing over a spare pair, but they had never taken a walk in the desert. Sand got in everywhere, and while his clothes were loose enough that they didn’t chafe, and his feet were calloused by far too many miles walked, underwear was a different story. Sweat. Folds. Chafing. Even when he didn’t have water to wash them, airing them out helped. Both with the smell and with the sand. And with the sun when it came to that, it might not be the most fashionable hat but they had probably saved his life once or twice. You never knew what would do that. Or who.

Sometimes he turned around because he felt a presence behind him. A ghost walking in his shadow. Or floating. A hallucination he talked to sometimes though it never answered. At least not with words that he believed. Ankh had never been kind. Or maybe he had been, in the same merciless way as the sun. His nose had blisters now and his skin was dark once more. No more Tokyo. No more beds. No more food whenever he wanted it. No more showers on demand. No more small room where he could close the door behind him and his nightmares, secure in the knowledge that Ankh would never care. Or at least never ask.

The cracked medallion in his hand was always cool despite the sun.

There was a city in the sand. And an old man. The city older than the man, but not by much. Corrugated steel sheets and plastic tarpaulins were less of an impressive setting than an ancient stone castle, but Alchemy was originally Al-kimia, and the roots of what had transpired eight hundred years ago could be found among the sands. One of the roots. He reluctantly relinquished the cracked medal, straining his knowledge of Arabic to the limit. This was important. Mending was easier than creation granted the desire was there, but this was not where he needed to be. The knowledge was his now, but he needed a place of power. Not here. This was the sand of Uva, the country of the holy beetles. No birds here. Eiji would have to go elsewhere.


	3. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Spoilers for the end of the show

Sun.

Rain.

Then sun again.

He was soaked down to his underwear.

The tourists carried umbrellas as they explored the ruins scattered amidst the jungle. Japanese politeness went a long way here, as did Japanese money. Not that he had any, but people made assumptions. He could have travelled here with any tourist group, but he was with none, just a quiet, politely smiling man walking amidst ruins that dwarfed him. He didn’t speak much Khmer, but his French was adequate. The dialect was different from the one he was used to, but it would do. It had brought him this far.

 The wall was massive and overgrown, a part of the complex not yet restored for the masses. The stone glistened with water and the sound of birds almost drowned the distant tourists. It was as the old man had said; the carvings were everywhere, surrounding him with their wings and arrogant, hawk-like features. Garuda. The battle steed of Vishnu, the high king of the gods. He’d never added it all up before but looking back it became too obvious, staring at him from a thousand clues. State seals. National emblems. Red wings spread proudly on the not-man, not-bird.

 This was the place. Maybe he should be nervous, but hope was an alien feeling by now. He had just kept walking out of sheer stubbornness. What else could he do? Stay in Tokyo surrounded by far too understanding friends? They did not need that. They had their own lives, and he liked to imagine that he seemed happy enough on the video calls with them. He could still smile. He could still joke, even when he saw Shingo wearing an expression that hit too close to the memories he treasured. A funhouse mirror, a joke that had no punch line because he was Hina’s brother and not the one he kept expecting him to be.

 Eiji had never asked how much that was remembered on his end.


	4. Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Spoilers for the end of the show

Cold.

Silence.

Then too many sounds.

When the tourists left the night came alive. The temperature dropped rapidly, though that might just be nervousness. His hands were shivering all the same. Maybe he shouldn’t have been doing this alone. Maybe he should have asked for help from Mr. Kougami. But he had chosen to keep the medallion a secret for a reason. His and Hina’s secret. Mr. Kougami had his heart in the right place, but he was not sure about his methods. If he ever figured out how, he had a suspicion that the businessman would not hesitate to recreate the medals. Build his own OOO. The world had enough weapons already. Besides, he could do this. Maybe he was the only one that could. Desire. It was as Mr. Kougami had said.

  _As long as there is desire, there is the potential for change and creation. It is desire that turns today into tomorrow._

 Dawn was approaching. It was always coldest then. The forest was kinder than the desert, even at night it kept some of the heat of the day, though the humidity still made him shiver. The medal rested in front of him, a smaller echo of the larger seals that surrounded them. Two halves, nested close together on the red silk that covered the pile of cell medals. They should never have been broken apart. But they didn’t shatter completely. Not like the others. Not like the Greed. He had never dared to ask himself why, but now he had to. He knew that Ankh would eventually be restored. He had seen his future self. But that future was forty years from now. And he did not want to wait that long.

  _"Try wanting something for a change… you’ll see what it’s like." Ankh had sounded so furious, eyes shooting arrows behind the wet fringe. "Have you ever really wanted anything at all?"_

 He had. He really had, but he had got it all wrong. And so he had given the wrong answer. Power. He had wanted it for sure, but power was nothing without intent. What use was having reach if there was nothing you wanted to reach out to? That was his error. That was why the purple medals had kept such a strong hold of him despite him finding a desire. Because he had not. Not really. Deep down he had been too similar to Dr Maki. Seeking an end. Not of the world, but of himself. Dying while saving the world. A good end, but an end all the same. No tomorrow.

 Eiji hoped it wasn’t too late to want one now.


End file.
